


Weightless

by ExpectThePatronum



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bellatrix won't get them, Department of Mysteries, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Neville and Harry are a good team, One Shot, Sane Tom Riddle, author doesn't know how to tag anymore, briefly mentioned blood, chase - Freeform, duel, i'm probably missing everything relevant but OH WELL, implied compulsion, maybe more? - Freeform, no need to worry, on hiatus until school lets out because college is kicking my ass, potentially good Voldemort/Tom, some violence, we shall see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-14 22:55:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15399348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExpectThePatronum/pseuds/ExpectThePatronum
Summary: Harry really just wants to sleep, but instead he goes and plays a very deadly game of tag in the Department of Mysteries in the hopes of saving his godfather. Instead, he and his friends are ambushed by Death Eaters. With Bellatrix hot on his heels, Harry confronts Voldemort, who may not actually be after the Savior like everyone is led to believe.





	1. Breaking

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!  
> This is my first attempt at writing something Harry Potter related, and it's been a while since I've really written anything in any fandom. (As you can see by my atrocious tagging. I'm working on it.) I would appreciate any constructive criticism you have to offer, or any other comments at all really. I hope you enjoy!

Harry was tired. So, so tired. The tugging in his chest pulling him towards the ministry kept getting stronger and stronger until he couldn’t fight it anymore. He gathered up his friends like a good little Savior and rushed off on a herd of Thestrals. 

 

And then absolutely everything went to shit. Bellatrix showed up, and so did Lucius Malfoy. And a bunch of other Death Eaters Harry didn’t know the names of with the creepy masks and horrible laughter. He lost Hermione somewhere in the chaos. Heard Ron shouting for Luna somewhere far to his left. Harry himself was busy stunning two of the no-name Death Eaters after being separated from Ginny and Neville. 

 

It was a race out of the Department of Mysteries, or maybe a deadly game of tag. The prophecy was already gone-he had no idea where-and Sirius was nowhere to be found. Bellatrix was right behind him throwing all sorts of curses he had no desire whatsoever to be hit with if the exploding wood and glass was anything to go by. 

 

Glass was shattering all over the place. Wood splintered with big sparks of magic on either side of him as Harry ran and ran through the maze that was the cursed Department of Mysteries. He came out of the labyrinth of disaster into a more open looking chamber with four doors opposite him and some kind of clear green fluid spilled all over the place. 

 

Harry wanted to be cautious and walk around whatever the green stuff was, but he didn’t have time with Bellatrix so close behind him. He threw a Stunner and a Tripping Hex in quick succession over his shoulder as Bellatrix rounded the last corner separating them and crossed his fingers hoping for the best as he bolted across the room for the purple door nearest him. It didn’t seem to have any loud sounds or smoke emerging from beyond. 

 

He was turning the knob and throwing himself through the door just as Bellatrix sent a Cutting Curse at him, catching his shoulder as he slammed the door closed behind him and locked it with every spell he could possibly think of. The one upside of being in the Department of Mysteries was that the walls and doors were resistant to destructive magic, meaning Bellatrix would actually have to dismantle all the locking mechanisms he put in place before she could continue chasing him. 

 

It cost him a precious few seconds to cast the spells and catch his breath enough to move on, but he needed the rest. His lungs were not happy with his current level of running for his life. He gave himself until he could hear Bellatrix’s footsteps on the other side of the door before taking off again, feet pounding against some kind of squishy floor-not quite rubber but definitely not carpet. He passed what looked like metal-made dinosaurs for a good minute before he caught sight of Ginny and Neville overcoming the Death Eater that was holding Hermione by the hair and all three taking off in a different direction than his current one. Just a handful of seconds later Bellatrix broke through the door and screamed his name. 

 

Harry broke through another door and took a series of quick left turns before he tripped over his own feet and lost track of his glasses. His frantic searching for them actually saved his sorry arse from a Hex of undetermined type coming from Bellatrix’s wand. 

 

He found them in the next moment, a bit crooked and with a crack in the left lens, but good enough to see what he needed. He ducked out of the way of a vibrant orange curse and called out a loud  _ Protego _ for the royal blue curse rapidly approaching. 

 

“ _ Expecto Patronum _ !”

 

He used his stag to distract Bellatrix and started pounding up the stairs. One flight, then two. The stairwell was unbearably hot, though whether that was because of a spell from Bellatrix, a protective charm of some kind, or his adrenaline-fueled imagination he couldn’t say. 

 

The blood from the place Bellatrix hit earlier was wetting the front of his robes too quickly for his liking and filling his mouth with the unpleasant taste of iron. It was burning something hard. 

 

He could feel movement from others on the rickety stairs and hear Ron and Luna shouting back and forth somewhere above him. Another voice-Lucius Malfoy-somewhere in between himself and Ron-and-Luna was calling out incantations Harry had never heard before. 

 

Bellatrix was a flight of stairs below him shooting Stunners and Crucios and Cutting Curses liberally, though they were all hitting walls just shy of Harry. He threw himself up flight after flight of stairs, losing track of how many. They continued on like that until suddenly Harry was exiting the stairwell and crashing bodily into Neville, landing them both in a heap on the floor. 

 

Only their training in the D.A. together had them both shrugging it off and getting up in a somewhat fluid motion. This wasn’t an area of the Ministry Harry had seen before, but Neville seemed to recognize something as he pulled Harry off towards a corridor to their left. 

 

There were dozens of snoring portraits on either side of them, missing the chaos of battle somehow. Harry envied them as he ran for his life beside Neville having no idea where they’d end up next. The portraits didn’t have to fear for their lives or the lives of others. Voldemort’s actions wouldn’t affect them, not really. They weren’t in any danger of pain from a mad Bellatrix running after them. Damn portraits. 

 

A Blasting Curse sends the two of them hurtling away from each other. Neville crashes into a table, landing among the shards of a shattered vase. Harry slams against a wall rather painfully before landing in a heap on the floor. Bellatrix catches up, evading a Tripping Hex Neville sends her way but not the _Bombarda_ Harry sent at the same time. The move buys them the distraction they need to take off again, both going down the hall closest to them. 

 

A right turn where the corridor he took broke off three ways and Harry is quickly in the lobby of the Ministry. The others weren’t there yet, but it sounded like they would be soon. He could hear them yelling. Unfortunately for him there were Death Eaters already waiting, cursing him before he even realized they were there. 

 

Harry was in pain, and time seemed to move differently. Too slow and too fast all at once. Seconds and hours and years getting mixed up in his head. And then there was Voldemort, and Harry was forcing himself up, body moving on its own. Like it was compelled to fight, a puppet acting at the whims of a master that was not Harry. 

 

He began with a strong  _ Incendio _ and a  _ Petrificus Totalus _ as fast as he could manage right after. Both of which Voldemort brushed off rather quickly before returning with spells Harry had no hope of knowing the purpose of. He ran around, shooting Stunners and Disarming Charms between ducking and rolling and running out of the way of whatever it was coming from Voldemort’s wand. 

 

It was a short-lived duel. Harry was lying flat on his arse in just under five minutes with the distinct impression that Voldemort was playing with him. There was something different about the air surrounding him from the graveyard. It could just be that they were no longer in a graveyard, but that didn't seem quite right. The pressure from his magic was different. Less chaotic as it raced across his skin. There was purpose in the whorls of energy pressing against him.

 

And something in Harry broke as he was restrained by this familiar-and-terrifying-but-also-different-than-before magic. He wasn’t in pain, but he couldn’t stop the tears leaking from the corners of his eyes into his knotted hair. He couldn’t quite stiffle the sobs slipping past his lips and echoing around the open lobby. 

 

No, that other thing wasn’t true. He was in pain, he just didn’t realize it until just then. His shoulder was on fire, and there was something wrong with his entire left leg. His feet were bloody unbearable. And he was just so unescapably tired. He felt as though he could pass out from exhaustion right there in the arms of his enemy. 

 

And wasn’t that something? Being crushed to death in the arms of a Dark Lord. But that wasn’t really right either, was it? No, because he wasn’t being crushed at all. It felt more like he was being cradled. Like a precious treasure that needed protection. That thought alone almost enough to force a snort, but he was too tired for even that. 

 

There was no adrenaline left. No survival instinct, no puppet strings forcing him to move. Harry gasped again, loud in the otherwise quiet hall as the shouting of his friends no longer cut through the silence. 

 

And then there was a soothing voice quieting him. “Shhh, it’s okay. It’s okay.” He said, sounding more like Harry’s Tom, the one he lost from the diary, than the madman he watched resurrected last year. “You are doing so spectacularly, little lion. So very, very well. I couldn’t be more proud. But it’s time to stop. TIme to rest. You have done enough. It was unspeakably cruel of him to make you fight me, build you up as the Light’s great weapon. You could never have won. You are just a child. Maybe, in another fifty years. But now you are just a child. You could never have won. It isn’t your fault, little lion, don’t fret. Shh.”

 

Harry felt something in his chest settle as he listened to the words of his enemy. Maybe it would be okay to rest now. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to just stop. The voice muttered something he couldn’t quite make out and his fingers, which had at some point without his knowledge gone painfully numb, suddenly rushed with warmth and a refreshing, tingling sensation. 

 

There was a crashing boom somewhere nearby, but it felt a thousand years away to Harry. He felt the room rattle and something warm brush over his forehead, lingering on his scar, before all the warmth left him. Still, the shouts, the crashes, the bangs and booms and clangs all seemed incredibly distant from where he floated, somewhere just above his body where he couldn’t feel the pain anymore and clung on to the memory of the warmth that had suddenly left him. 

 

He heard the distant calls of Ron and Hermione, whisper-shouting his name to see if he responds, but he just can’t bring himself to go back and feel all the pain again. It isn’t worth it. Let the world burn, if that’s really what it’s going to do. 

 

He knows that his body is being moved-dragged-across the floor. Can see the duel happening now with his changed position as Ron and Hermione sneak him across the battlefield of Death Eaters and the Order of the Phoenix. Voldemort and Dumbledore clashing in a terrific display of magic. The whole lobby in filled with the bright, dazzling colors of spells Harry only sometimes knows.

 

He recognizes the tug of apparition that lands them somewhere else. 

 

Hogsmeade. 

 

Then a spell that has him floating. It also has him wondering why they didn’t use that before. It would have been faster than dragging him the muggle way. And less damaging to his already bruised and battered body. Perhaps they were too panicked to think of it at the time. 

 

He recognizes, what feels like a second later, the pure white ceiling of the hospital wing. The squeak of Madam Pomfrey’s shoes against the floor. The worried mutterings of his friends. The Mediwitch’s muggle curses barely audible to his cotton-stuffed ears. He picks up the familiar scent of Snape, like dried herbs and metal. The taste of some hideous disgusting potion. Potions. 

 

And slowly, he recognizes the irresistible pull of darkness that sometimes takes him away from the pain that comes from summers at the Dursley’s. 


	2. Awake

Tom was most assuredly  **not** happy, even if he did a very good job of keeping it off his face. If he saw Tom’s irritation Potter would just be more distressed, so he struggled to tamp down the emotion and keep his expression gentle. Keep his voice soothing. He ran fingers through the messy black hair, pushed magic into the little body in an attempt to heal the damage caused. 

 

He couldn’t stop fighting for his cause, not after everything that had already been sacrificed on both sides. It would be an insult to all those who fought if he just gave up. But Merlin did Tom want to sometimes, when he saw the hurt on the young faces Dumbledore kept sending after him. That thrice damned old man just couldn’t let Tom better the community at the risk of his own power. So he sent  **children** . Children! Again and again Tom faced down young teenagers and newly weds. Who were all children in the face of his experience, his power. Some admittedly very talented children, but innocent and undeserving of this struggle all the same. 

 

Tom was angry. Beyond angry. He was tired of fighting and killing the wizarding youth. He didn’t want to, but he would if that was the cost to save magic. But all the same Tom raged. Raged against the man that compelled them all to stand against Tom, who filled the world with so many lies about Tom’s cause. 

 

Oh, Tom hated the man. For everything, but mostly for continually sending children to fight his battle for him, for sacrificing the lives and future of the wizarding world. Tome  **hated** him. Regularly imagined killing him. 

 

Dumbledore had driven him mad, done something at the Potter residence that night to change him, turn him into little more than a mindless, power-hungry wraith. But Tom remembered now, had most of his sanity back. And he was ready to end this once and for all, even if it meant taking more risks than he wanted. He could and would prevent more unnecessary death. 

 

The boy in his arms whimpered again as the Ministry building shook. The Order of the Phoenix would arrive any moment with their precious Lord of the Light. Maybe Tom would get lucky and Dumbledore would make enough of a mistake to die tonight. Somehow he doubted it. 

 

The Dark Lord was well aware of his own power, but he also knew the knowledge and power and experience of Albus Dumbledore was a force to be reckoned with, and the Elder Wand would only make him more formidable. Tom could stand against him, but it was unlikely he would win tonight. 

 

He would just have to buy enough time for all his Death Eaters to escape. He’d hoped to speak with the little lion, but it would seem there time to speak was over before it even began. He’d have to find another way, as he was not in the business of kidnapping children if he could help it. 

 

With a brief kiss he left Potter on the floor behind him, protected by a ward designed by Orion Black himself many years ago. 

 

He engaged Dumbledore, and the whole world shook around them. Some stopped their own fighting to watch, others took advantage of the distraction. Tom just wanted this night to be over. He wanted Dumbledore to suffer, but he would settle for making the old man run around a battlefield. 

 

___

It was over before it really begun, but that seemed to be the theme of the night. Nothing had gone according to his plans this day. Not a single thing, but at least he’d managed to get the full prophecy thanks to Lucius. 

 

Something good came out of the disastrous attempt to open the eyes of one Harry Potter. 

 

Bellatrix would be paying for her insubordination for a very long time in the form of regular meetings with a mind healer and the very boring job of staying in protected places and recovering her old physical strength. She’d begged to be part of the mission, and he’d allowed it on the condition that she did not move from her post. He isn’t even sure why he believed she would. Perhaps he just hoped for his old Lieutenant back. The one before Dumbledore’s compulsions and more than a decade in Azkaban. 

 

It would seem that there is a long while still to wait, and heal, before Bellatrix would be fit to take over that title once again. Perhaps he should send for another Mind Healer, one whose thoughts were not clouded by familial love. Narcissa was the best, but she was also blind in her love. HE should have known. 

 

Despite all that, Tom was impressed. Those students had done quite well against his Death Eaters, even if his people were under strict orders not to permanently harm any of them. Not even seventh years, and the only one severely injured was Potter, who’d received the injuries from Bellatrix and himself. 

 

But that tickled, because he knew the teachers taking up the Defence post at Hogwarts were constantly changing, and that the current one, a Miss Dolores Umbridge, was absolutely dreadful. Begged the question, even, of who had taught them to be so resourceful?

 

___

 

Harry awoke incredibly sore, like he’d fallen off his broom from fifty feet in the air. Again. Or something. It was a slow transition into wakefulness. Incredibly slow. Words coming out of Pomfrey’s mouth weren’t making much sense for a while. At least he knew she was talking to Hermione. 

 

His legs seemed to be the main source of pain. Specifically his feet. He didn’t remember hurting his feet though. Definitely bruised some ribs, if they weren’t actually broken, when Bellatrix sent him flying through the air. In fact, with all the running and tossing himself around to escape there wasn’t much of his body that wasn’t bruised or injured. But his feet were something he actually expected to be  **alright** after all that happened in the Ministry. 

 

His head was surprisingly clear, now that he was released from sleep’s grasp. No headache or anything. Hands were fine. Arms good. Ribs sore but not unbearably so. Back a bit sore as well, it seemed. Hips undamaged. Legs felt like he’d run for his life. So, as was expected really. Feet status: on fucking fire.

 

Harry finally opened his eyes to glare at the two women talking about him as though he wasn’t in the room. Unconscious or not he didn’t like it. 

 

“Madam Pomfrey? Er, what’s wrong with my feet?”

 

“Oh! You’re finally up, Mister Potter. Seems the heat from the stairwell melted right through your shoes, and the Blistering Potion that spilled all over the floor and got all over your boots made contact with your skin when you lost the shoe barrier. Not to worry, I’ve already drained the worst of the blisters. Professor Snape will bring up a special potion in a bit and you’ll be good as new.”

 

“The heat from the stairwell burned my shoes? It didn’t really seem all that bad.”

 

“Probably the adrenaline.” 

 

Hermione added, “It’s actually a really interesting piece of magic. It’s meant to prevent people without a special artifact from using the stairwell. It has access to some classified areas of the Ministry. Professor Dumbledore thought it was quite lucky you all didn’t burn alive running through it.”

 

Harry thought she sounded far too excited about that whole bit of information. 

 

“Wait. The Headmaster dueled Voldemort, didn’t he?” He ignored the flinches. “What happened after we left?”

 

“Professor Dumbledore fought off You-Know-Who while the Order helped get rid of the Death Eaters. They all fled soon after you were off the grounds. Seems the whole things was a set-up to get to you.”

 

That didn’t really add up. “But-”

 

“Ah, Harry, my boy! Finally awake I see.”

 

“Hello, Professor.” Harry was waiting for the twinkling eyes to say something about the stunt, but they weren’t twinkling at the moment. Something was off. 

 

“Ladies, if you wouldn’t mind I’d like a few moments to speak with Mr. Potter myself.”

 

“Of course, Professor.”

 

“I’ll just escort this one back to the tower, shall I?”

 

Dumbledore waited until both witches were gone before turning back to Harry. He spent a few long moments just staring at him, and Harry was fighting hard not to fidget. He wasn’t very successful. 

 

After what seemed like forever and a half Dumbledore took five long, drawn-out steps and sat himself-somewhat dramatically-in the chair near Harry’s bed. 

 

And stared. 

 

Again.

 

Harry was over it. “Ughm. Professor?”

 

“Harry, my boy. I’m afraid I have some very bad news. You heard from Miss Granger, I assume, that the Order came in to fight off the Death Eaters at the Ministry.”

 

“Yeah, Hermione was just finishing telling me that when you got here, sir.”

 

“Well, you see. When the Order got the information Sirius heard as well. He refused not to go along as well.”

 

“Is he hurt? Where is he?” Harry was just barely not screaming at the end. It was a near thing. 

 

“Bellatrix, my boy. Bellatrix got him before we could. Threw him right through the veil.”

 

“What? I...No. NO! That can’t. That can’t be right, professor. I mean. He can’t just be gone.”

 

Dumbledore was saying something else, but Harry couldn’t hear. Sirius was supposed to be safe. Dumbledore was supposed to keep him safe after failing to get him a trial all those years ago. He’d failed again. Harry hadn’t even thought it was a good idea to go to the Ministry. Why? Why!

 

His magic was out of control. Raging and lashing out, far beyond his ability to rein in. Glass shattered, showering the room in dangerous, glittering shards. The cabinets blew open, doors ripped from hinges. Potions bottles charmed to be unbreakable broke. The other furniture creaked and groaned under the pressure. The walls bent outward with the force of the magic. 

 

Dumbledore said something else, lifting his wand, and the whole world went dark again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I worked out a rough plot, so here we go. I will probably be a bit slow with the updates until I work out a rhythm but I'll do my best to get you some regular updates. Let me know your thoughts in the comments!

**Author's Note:**

> Soo.....That happened.  
> Let me know what you think!


End file.
